


A Strong and Steady Fire

by eternalsojourn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fighting, First Kiss, Kissing, Swordplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2351705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsojourn/pseuds/eternalsojourn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slightly alternate universe in which Brienne, and not Bronn, teaches Jaime how to fight again after he loses his hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Strong and Steady Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neomeruru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/gifts).



The clash of metal on metal sent shocks reverberating up through Jaime’s arm. He gritted his teeth and stepped around to the outside of Brienne’s reach. His movements felt damnably slow, which shouldn’t have been the case when it was only his hand that was different. He was certain his clumsiness was impossible to hide and more than his hand, that shamed him. His honour kept him fighting; the injury to his dignity was nigh-crippling. Still, he fought.

He swept a defensive arc of his sword and danced backwards before parrying forward with a sharp thrust. As expected, his blade was turned wide enough to miss, but it was a nearly a hit -- closer than he’d managed thus far.

His small victory was short-lived as blunted blade glanced off his side. Unblunted he’d have been skewered as so much game. 

“You forget to shield your right,” said Brienne as she stepped backwards out of the fight. “Your speed is greater than mine and with a little more practice your sword arm will be the equal of any knight. But you still fight as a right-handed man.”

Jaime unclenched his jaw and looked up from his own hand held at his ribs. Brienne stood sweating and slumped, chest heaving. No trace of mockery marred her gaze, nor did her words sound like a pitied kindness. 

“My sword arm has much catching up if I’m to be even a ghostly imitation of my former self.” Jaime raised his eyes as far as her chin.

Brienne fell into stance once more. “Speaking of practice is not practice.”

Jaime had given up the session for done. Disbelief mingled with the rush of a challenge, and Jaime caught her gaze. He gathered his reserves to fall into stance once more.

***

His feet moved beneath him without thought or premeditation. His limbs answered the requirements of strategy, not individual movements. Twice he neglected to protect his weak side and he’d taken non-fatal blows to his shoulder and thigh, but he’d landed as many and one more.

The sun was still above the hedge that shielded the courtyard from prying eyes, with an hour’s strong light left. The stones beneath their feet were golden in the afternoon light, and the breeze cooled sweat refreshingly. Even Brienne’s battled armour held a burnished sheen and her hair retained its pale hue despite its dampness. 

Every practice had its ebbs and flows, and Jaime took respite in the rhythm of parry and block they’d fallen into while they regathered their strength and mental acuity. Jaime found himself reflective.

Brienne had proven more useful than he’d anticipated. The regular practice in itself was invaluable, but her quiet and unyielding expectation that he would gain the full measure of his ability was both unexpected and too large to perceive all at once. Through many sessions Jaime only look fleetingly at it, made uncomfortable by its bare truth. 

While ducking gracefully under a swipe and stepping around, he glanced at her face. A frown furrowed her brow, her cheeks flushed rose, and the set of her lips was determined, not angry. She fought unmarred by emotion. It explained her ability to stay rational immediately after a hit in order to defend and parry. Still, a fire burned in her. Unlike Cersei, who was all spitfire and sparks, Brienne burned strong and steady, at the heart of the fire where the embers formed. It showed in her fighting style: a relentless onslaught of steady aggression that could wear a man down. It showed in her face: fierce and bright.

They fought long, effort flaring and subsiding, then one final burst. Metal clanged and grunts rang out in the cool evening air as Jaime pushed with the remains of his energy. But in the last it yielded to Brienne’s inexhaustibility. By Jaime’s count he was down by two clean hits.

Brienne’s blade rested on the ground and she unclipped her armoured vest. “Ser,” she said, the word containing the beginning and end of her sentence, an expression of respect and quiet acknowledgement of her victory.

“You are rather fetching like this,” Jaime said before he realized the words had crossed his mind.

Brienne’s face darkened. “If that were meant as a kindness, it is unwelcome and unnecessary. If it were mockery, I would have you know it has been delivered better and sharper by others.”

Jaime huffed. “It was meant as neither. Simply an observation.”

Brienne appeared as though she’d swallowed an insect. 

“I owe you a debt of gratitude,” Jaime said in an effort to change the subject. “For this, for training with me, broken as I am.”

Brienne’s face twisted into a moue of distaste. It was a long moment before she spoke, and when she did her manner was ponderous.

“There were many who deemed me unfit for combat for the piece I lacked under my small clothes.” She narrowed her eyes, thoughtful. “In my experience being underestimated is often an advantage. I believe a differently shaped sword may still kill a man.”

Jaime laughed drily. “It’s only underestimating if the person can exceed expectation.”

He thought of Cersei and her incandescent anger at a world that dared to break him. He thought of how Brienne had never disputed his brokenness, but neither had she confirmed it. She simply expected more of him, and though he was certain to fall short, he found himself desiring to avoid disappointing her.

He was suddenly uncomfortable discussing it. He cleared his throat. “What is under your small clothes is for other things than combat,” he said. As a deflection it was weak, still allowing for comment about his hand. Brienne, however, reacted to the innuendo instead, with an uncomfortable blush and a quick aversion of her eyes. He laughed. “You blush like a maiden.”

Her look was viciously angry, bitter. “It is of no business of yours.”

Jaime softened. It seemed he stepped poorly with Brienne no matter what he said. His barbs landed with more damage than he intended. “That is true. It is not my business. It is true, though. You may not be fair as the maidens in King’s Landing but neither does a maid look as fetching with the flush of combat on her cheeks, nor the glow of effort on her brow.”

Brienne turned her back and bent to pick up her things. Despite the efforts of the afternoon, her back was stiff, her movements brusque. “I’m certain you find such mockery amusing, but I’ll not stay here to endure it. Your skills have improved; a new sparring partner would assist with continuing your progress. Good evening, ser.”

Jaime had covered the distance across the courtyard before realizing he’d done it, and he tugged Brienne around rather more roughly than he intended. He eyed the angry line between her brows, and though he duly dropped his hand from her arm, he couldn’t help the twitch at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head gently, fondly.

“I think it would be easier convincing my sister to apologize than to convince you to take a compliment. Would you really end our sessions over an imagined slight?”

The furrowed brow remained, but Brienne spent a long moment considering Jaime’s face. “You might have used yourself in that comparison. I don’t believe I’ve heard an apology escape your lips.”

“I may apologize if I believed one was necessary.” Jaime matched her gaze, reining in the urge to brush the stray lock fluttering across her forehead. Her eyes flicked to his mouth, so fleeting Jaime could have imagined it. But behind the flinty resolve in her eyes was something else, something soft and vulnerable. “You’re impossible,” Jaime said softly.

Before the look of affront could fully assemble on Brienne’s face, Jaime shifted closer and captured her lips with his own, matching her startled gasp with a huff of pent up frustration and desire. For a moment Brienne remained unresponsive, and Jaime eased the hard press of his mouth, taking a final notice of the feel of her lips before breaking.

But the easing sprung her to action and before he could break contact, she pressed forward, gripping his arm with a strength that would prevent him from leaving were he so inclined. The possibilities in that strength prompted a swelling in Jaime’s breeches and he urged Brienne’s mouth open to press his tongue inside in imitation of his ultimate desire. Her instant receptiveness to the advance and subsequent tussle of tongues provided a glimpse of Brienne’s nature, increasing Jaime’s tumescence.

He broke the kiss suddenly, licking the taste of her from his lower lip. It was born more from a need to halt any escalation than a desire to stop.

“Ser,” Brienne said, blinking slowly as though she were about to lean in for another kiss, but she remained where she was.

Jaime breathed a laugh. “My name is Jaime.”

Brienne nodded, her frown returning and her guard returning once more to shutter her away.

“It were no mockery, Brienne.” When her furrow eased slightly, Jaime leaned in and drew his thumb over the curve of her lips. “Again tomorrow, then?”

A flicker of the corner of her mouth was the closest thing to a smile Jaime had seen on her face in some time, and it shone like a light escaping a crack in a wall. Jaime kissed it, gently this time, with a hint of promise for more.

Brienne nodded again, this time through the kiss. “Yes,” she said, breaking away. “Tomorrow, then.”

Brienne turned then and picked up her things, slipping out of the courtyard with a half glance back, not quite far enough to reach Jaime’s face. 

Jaime stood and smiled before turning and gathering himself to go. 

***End***

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by neomeruru during a request for prompts on tumblr. The original post is [here](http://eternalsojourn.tumblr.com/post/98280545240/jaime-brienne-drabble-request).


End file.
